


Inhibited

by the_moonmoth



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt <i>You know how Spock is always getting disinhibited and being all emotional? What if Kirk got inhibited instead and got, you know, Vulcanesque?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhibited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefourthvine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefourthvine/gifts).



McCoy figures there's something up when Jim flops down on the floor of his office with an odd, soft expression on his face and stares sightlessly up at the ceiling – he hasn't had _that_ much to drink. He frowns at the smile only showing in Jim's shining eyes and thinks, _yeah, alcohol's definitely not the chemical at work, here._

He takes a fortifying sip of finest oak-matured whiskey before asking, "Who is she, then?"

Kirk looks at him out of the corner of his moonstruck eye and smirks. "Don't know what you mean, Bones."

McCoy scowls at him. "So it's like that, is it?" Jim remains infuriatingly silent. McCoy can't think of a time when Jim's clammed up over something like this – only one explanation he can think of. "Well, congratulations, hotshot."

"What?" Jim's eyes slide lazily over to his, half-lidded with booze.

McCoy merely quirks an eyebrow at him and raises his glass in salute. "To love."

*

In retrospect, he might have expected the reaction that followed – Jim's eyes opening wide and surprised, sitting bolt upright as the color drained from his face. Given what he'd pieced together of Jim's formative years and the kid's general outlook on the opposite sex, it probably shouldn't have surprised him that Jim'd never been in love before.

What had surprised him were the things that had changed. Like right now, standing on the bridge, McCoy watches as Jim speaks to Spock, the model of politeness and professionalism. And it's not that Jim's ever unprofessional, per se, but he's always had his own way of doing things, one being that he takes a certain measure of delight in riling his Vulcan first officer. McCoy heartily approves. But there he is, no unsolicited physical contact, no attempts at humor or little digs at Spock's expense, just an impeccably mannered, utterly sterile exchange. It's like watching a Vulcan-handling seminar back at the Academy.

He'd thought, at first, that Jim was still interested in Uhura – her and Spock had broken up recently and McCoy had wondered if treating Spock like this wasn't Jim's way of getting in her good books. And sure, she's watching them out of the corner of her eye right now, something like amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth, but Jim couldn't be paying her less attention if he had a flashing sign on his back saying _Only has eyes for Spock._

And then McCoy realizes exactly what he's just thought. He stares at Jim and Spock, the pair entirely engrossed in their conversation.

"Holy God!" he blurts out.

*

It's not that he's narrow-minded – he's a doctor, for God's sake, he can't afford to be – it's just that Jim's never shown the slightest bit of interest in men. Given his opportunism when it comes to sex, McCoy finds himself to be actually faintly surprised by this, now he thinks about it. And it's not like Spock's just _any_ man.

McCoy'd been aware, of course, that their professional relationship had grown very quickly to become a smoothly operating command team, and from there to a slightly less smoothly operating friendship. He'd known Jim liked spending time with Spock, enjoyed their chess matches and had started taking meals with him after their shifts finished. He'd seen them as he wandered through the rec room in a caffeine withdrawal haze, sitting together, talking, though heaven knew what they talked _about_ : he couldn't see a Vulcan engaging in small-talk or any of the other little social niceties that kept human friendships ticking over.

"That's rich, coming from you," Jim tells him one evening, after McCoy'd idly voiced this train of thought. "First time I met you, you threatened to throw up on me."

"Okay, Jim, fine," he says, frustration mounting. "Explain it to me, then – what exactly do you see in that cold-blooded automaton?"

"Not jealous are you, Bones?"

This? This is James T. Kirk Evasion 101. He knows it well. And yet, this time, there's a tangible edge to his words that catches McCoy's attention.

He shakes his head. "You've got it bad," he says.

*

For someone who was so used to hiding what he really wanted, watching Jim fumble his way through this strange new emotion was kind of hard for Bones. He could practically see the internal struggle in Jim, the half that desperately wanted to get it right versus the half whose natural instinct was to withdraw behind easy, shallow smiles and cast-iron 'no entry' bars.

The way he spoke to Spock, stiff and hesitant where previously he'd been his usual easy self, was painful to watch. Luckily, a lot of the time McCoy was laughing too hard to get sympathetically maudlin over it.

Like that time they'd all three of them had to share a room on Beta Hadrani IV, the culture's obsession with the number three informing everything from their politics right down to their domestic arrangements.

"You are a family group?" the Ambassador had asked tentatively as she led them to the domestic wing of the palace.

McCoy had watched in amusement as the faintest of blushes had tinted Jim's cheeks. "More of a triumvirate," Jim'd said carefully.

"Of course," was all the Ambassador had said, sounding like she didn't really understand, something that was made abundantly clear when she'd led them all three into a large hexagonal room with three beds at the center arranged in a star pattern.

"Uh," Jim'd said, glancing over at Spock. "Some species tend to prefer-"

"These lodgings will be perfectly adequate to our needs," Spock interrupted quietly. "It would be best not to risk offence on our first diplomatic assignment, Captain," he'd added a moment later, when the Ambassador had gone.

"Right. You're right," Kirk agreed after a moment, but McCoy could see the look of blank horror building up behind his eyes – Jim usually slept naked, and Bones'd bet two bottles of scotch that there was no sleepwear in his overnight pack.

*

But there's also that one time that's just so far from funny Bones would be more than glad to forget it ever happened: Spock materializing with Jim limp at his side, shirt hanging off in tatters, blood flowing freely down his arms and chest, head nodding forward in near-unconsciousness.

The gurney had been delayed and Bones had been scanning Jim and shouting increasingly profane orders and trying to work out how long Jim could wait before dying of blood loss when Spock had simply scooped him up like a small child and run for sickbay.

Bones had loved him and his unholy Vulcan strength just a little bit in that moment.

And later, returning from the bridge once the ship was safe, Bones had seen that Jim's blood was still crusted in Spock's uniform, smudges of dirt and dark rust still on his face, and Spock had just stood by Jim's bed and stared, for an hour or more, like a sentinel keeping watch over something precious.

*

It's not too long after that mission that Bones looks up from his PADD to find Spock lurking at his office door.

"Commander? You coming in?" he asks.

Spock lifts an eyebrow at him, as if to say he'd never intended otherwise, and comes to stand before McCoy's desk. Bones wonders idly if he realizes he's standing at perfect parade rest. Probably.

"I find I am in need of guidance that you are uniquely qualified to give, Doctor," Spock says stiffly.

McCoy frowns. "Go on."

"It relates to Jim. I have observed a change in his behavior that appears to be directed solely toward me. I first noticed it approximately six weeks and two days ago. I wished to enquire if you were aware of any event that may have occurred to give rise to this change."

Bones squints up at him, trying to decide if he most wants to laugh or smack the pair of them around the head. The thing is, Spock might be mostly Vulcan, but the part of him that isn't is undeniably Human. Much as the man's cool logic can drive him around the bend, Bones had also seen the way he'd looked at Jim that morning on Beta Hadrani IV – bed covers pushed down in the night, chest bare, face boyish in sleep. Like a starving man laying eyes on a feast.

"Have you tried asking Jim himself?" he asks.

"I was unsure if that was advisable," Spock admits.

"Well I'm not going to be your go-between, so you'd better decide."

Spock seems to hesitate a moment, then tilts his head. "Thank you for your time, Doctor McCoy," he says, and all McCoy can think as he watches Spock's retreating form, is _so sarcasm isn't an emotion, then._

*

He's not quite sure what makes him rise from his desk and follow Spock down the corridor. It isn't nosiness, he tells himself, so much as wanting to see how this all pans out, as he's been in on it since the beginning. Besides, if Spock messes this up he's going to need to know so McCoy can start making his life an unmitigated misery. He pauses to consider this, hanging back as Spock stops to check a computer terminal. He decides to be fair and adjusts this to: if Spock _or_ Jim messes this up.

*

Spock walks with the measured kind of urgency of a man who doesn't want to reach his destination and refuses to admit it to himself. It isn't long before McCoy sees him disappear through the doors to Rec Room 2. McCoy slips in after him.

It's one of the larger rec rooms, but the scarcity of people speaks to the lateness of the hour. A group of four engineers is getting up from their table as he enters, and McCoy steps into the darkened kitchen nook so as not to draw attention to himself. Once they're gone, it's just him and Spock and a lone figure at a table by the viewports.

Jim's never been one to go in for moping, even recently, so it's a bit of a surprise to Bones to see him there by himself, staring out at the stars. But when he notices Spock he greets him as though their meeting here isn't anything out of the ordinary. Bones feels a little jab, something twisting almost painfully inside of him, because it isn't like Jim to keep things from him, and yet this is something he didn't know.

He watches as Jim attempts to exchange pleasantries, the conversation stilted and formal.

"Spock, hi, have a seat." Spock sits. "I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight."

"That is because I had not informed you of my intention to be here, Captain."

"No, of course. How's the research going with Chekov?"

"Adequately."

"Finished early for the night?"

"Yes. It has become apparent that despite his protestations, Ensign Chekov requires just as much sleep as other Humans."

"Is that so."

"Indeed."

The conversation continues in this riveting vein for another couple of minutes, and McCoy starts to wonder if intervention might be necessary after all, when Spock stands up suddenly and turns and takes the two steps to the viewport. He clasps his hands behind his back and when he turns back to face Jim, he's as agitated as Bones has ever seen him – the throttling incident notwithstanding. His face is as placid as ever, but with Spock it's all in the eyes.

"Jim," he starts, "something has happened to cause you to change your behavior toward me. I wish to know if I am at fault."

Jim's lack of expression is truly impressive, but McCoy knows the cogs are turning very quickly underneath it. "What do you mean?" Jim asks carefully.

Spock pauses, raises an eyebrow. "Your mode of address," he says eventually, "has reverted to a level of formality I have yet to see anyone else enjoy, the admiralty included. As I am the only crewmember you converse with in this manner, and given that you previously spoke to me with the same level of familiarity with which you speak to all the senior staff, the most logical conclusion I can draw is that I have somehow caused offense. If that is the case, I wish to understand the source of your displeasure so that I may attempt to make amends."

"You want to apologize?" Jim asks, his voice going oddly high as he chokes down something that might just be hysteria.

Spock nods, a flash of irritation in his eyes. "Yes."

Jim covers his face with his hands for a moment, then pulls them down, pressing his fingertips into his closed eyes before standing and approaching Spock. His movements are cautious, and Spock's eyes track him until he comes to a stop an arm's length away.

"If I tell you you haven't done anything wrong, will you be satisfied with that?" Jim asks quietly, and McCoy feels his insides twist again, this time for entirely different reasons.

"No," Spock says, equally quietly.

"Okay," Jim says, looking resigned. "Fine. I didn't tell you before because I didn't think you'd want to know this, and it was already awkward enough, but just remember that you asked..."

Jim's voice dies, his throat going audibly dry, and McCoy sees Spock's hand twitch, like he's just stopped himself from reaching out to him.

"Jim," he says, voice so low Bones can barely hear it. "Please tell me." He's intent, looking at Jim with those dark brown eyes, and with their quiet voices and close proximity, their exchange is intimate in a way McCoy has never associated with Spock before.

Jim shrugs, grins flatly. "I'm in love with you," he says.

There's a moment of complete stillness in which Bones can feel his heart racing in his throat. Then a slight frown seems to flitter across Spock's face, and he says, "Are you sure?"

Jim lets out a breath, shaky, not quite a laugh. "Yeah," he says, "pretty sure."

"Fascinating," Spock breathes, and takes a step closer. He reaches out to Jim's hand with his middle and forefinger and runs them lightly over Jim's knuckles.

"What are you doing?" Jim whispers.

"Jim, your inability to process your new emotional state has led to a highly irrational outcome," Spock says, his voice low, words tumbling out almost lyrically. "As I am not opposed to a greater degree of intimacy with you, it would be illogical to allow it to continue."

"What?" Jim asks disbelievingly, voice cracking.

Spock, who has been seemingly transfixed by the light contact between their hands, looks up and meets Jim's eye. He says, "There is a Human aphorism: actions speak louder than words," and he leans forward and kisses him.

*

Spock and Jim's attention fixed very firmly on one other, Bones slips quietly out of the rec room and keys the door to chime loudly before admitting anyone.

And if he's smiling to himself as he walks back to sickbay and his office piled high with paperwork, it's only because he's relieved that this little episode is over with at last.

So when Jim props himself in Bones's doorway the following morning, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth that's somewhere between lewd and genuinely happy, Bones looks determinedly down at his PADD and says very loudly, "Not interested!"

Jim just laughs.


End file.
